


Once More Unto the Breach

by moolktea



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Creampie, DNA (destroy nero's ass), First Time, Fluff, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Sex Pollen, nero propaganda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 00:07:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18981148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moolktea/pseuds/moolktea
Summary: Dante and Nero receive a healthy dose of demonic plant-entity aphrodisiac sex pollen. The logical conclusion ensues.





	Once More Unto the Breach

**Author's Note:**

> this is for all the HORNY people in that HORNY dn twitter thread yesterday u all kno who u are TAKE RESPONSIBILITY

“Dante,” Nero begins, approaching the turned back of his devil-hunting business partner, from where the older man is standing completely still, staring hard at the slowly decaying ruins of the demonic plant entity that they’d just extinguished. 

“You, uh...you good?”

Nero tugs at his scarf uncomfortably, loosening the fabric around his neck feeling a little winded, probably still recovering from the exertion of their fight. He pushes his bangs out of his eyes, his white strands damp with sweat, his body heat elevated from the rush of the battle. For a plant that was completely rooted to the ground, it was surprisingly skilled at defending itself, spraying some kind of noxious looking substance into the air from its various spores as they had fought.

He squints as he comes closer to Dante, noticing how tense the muscles in the broad expanse of Dante’s back are. The man’s hands are clenched at his side, his grip on Rebellion so tight that his knuckles have turned white from the force. He can’t quite see Dante’s face, but the other man’s body language is certainly enough to alert Nero that something isn’t quite right.

“Hey, grandpa?” He tries again, but gets no response. 

Now Nero is  _ really  _ concerned--normally, the other man couldn’t be bothered to keep his mouth shut for longer than a couple of seconds.

He frowns in irritation, both at Dante’s silence and from the stifling heat in the air around them. With another tug at his scarf, harshly enough so that the fabric comes all the way off, Nero properly steps forward, carefully putting a hand on Dante’s arm.

Dante reacts quickly, faster than Nero’s eye can track, as he sheathes his sword, whirling around and grabbing Nero by the shoulder, his hand a little uncomfortably close to the curve of his neck. Nero’s hand immediately flies to Dante’s wrist as he looks up into the other’s eyes, his heart rate picking up.

Something is definitely not right.

Dante’s eyes are dark, with only a faint ring of blue around the black of his dilated pupils, and Nero’s never seen this kind of expression on the man’s face. The other is looking at him with an intensity that Nero can’t quite understand.

“What the hell?” Nero snaps, trying to yank Dante’s hand off of him, but the other’s grip only tightens, his fingers pressing against a point on the back of Nero’s shoulder that has him suddenly jerking underneath the pressure, a strange feeling of...something rushing through him.

“Nero, I….”

Dante clenches his jaw, his teeth pressed together so tightly that Nero swears he can hear them grind. He inhales deeply, before tearing his eyes away with what appears to be great difficulty, releasing Nero and stepping backward, pressing a hand against his mouth.

“Let’s just get back,” Dante finally says, and Nero can’t even object, not with how unnerved he is by Dante’s weird behavior. 

Besides, it’s awfully hot outside, more so than Nero remembers it being when they’d first gone out. Nero’s throat feels dry, and he’s in desperate need of a cold glass of water and maybe a nap.

Dante is absolutely silent as they make their way back to the shop, ignoring the way that Nero keeps giving him concerned glances out of the corner of his eye. In fact, Dante seems to be attempting to avoid looking at him altogether, his head firmly twisted to the right. 

Nero feels an irrational, impulsive annoyance bubble up in his gut. Sure, he’s got a short temper, but it usually isn’t  _ this  _ short. Dante hasn’t done anything wrong, except refuse to look at him.

Except, for some reason, Nero feels like he really  _ wants  _ Dante to look at him.

Dante nearly blows the door of the shop off of its hinges with the amount of force he uses to shove open the door, and Nero stares, wide-eyed, as the door slams into the wall of the doorframe, leaving at least an inch-deep indent in the foundation of the house. 

Uh. Well then.

Nero can’t really think of any reason why Dante would be this ticked off--he’d been perfectly fine before the battle, if one counted having a single brain cell as being “fine.” Maybe Nero had fucked something up during the battle?

But that wasn’t like Dante, either. Having lived in Fortuna his entire life, Nero had found himself pretty overwhelmed when he’d come to the city, interrupting Dante’s everyday life by suddenly showing up at his door without warning. No matter how many times Nero’s messed up or simply just lacked knowledge about something that was apparently commonplace--toasters, for instance--the older man had always been there to patiently help Nero through his problems, with more gentleness than Nero would have ever expected from him.

Nero watches as Dante continues to storm through the rest of his office, practically tearing his beloved red coat off of his body and tossing it carelessly to the side. He isn’t quite sure what else to do, so he reluctantly follows Dante inside. The amount of worry he’s starting to feel, about whether he’d actually screwed something up or not, is starting to come dangerously close to anxiety, and Nero feels his natural defense mechanisms starting to kick in, a flood of angry and defensive irritation smothering his own swirling thoughts.

Before his mind can properly catch up to his actions, Nero finds himself starting forward, grimacing as he pops open the first button on his blue undershirt, his own coat slung over his arm. If only it wasn’t so fucking  _ hot _ , then maybe Nero could think a little more clearly.

“Hey, Dante,” he snaps out, and when he  _ still  _ gets no response, he grits his teeth together, before moving to actually stand in front of the other man, forcing him to look at him again.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Nero demands. “If I did something wrong, then you need to fucking--”

The air is promptly knocked out of his lungs as, with a very harsh, deep growl, Dante grabs the front of Nero’s shirt and pushes him against the wall. The depth of the sound is highly reminiscent of the way his voice sounded while he was in his Devil Trigger form, and Nero suddenly finds himself ducking his head on instinct, trying to look up at Dante through his lashes.

The skin of his neck prickles uncomfortably, feels too sensitive and not sensitive enough all at the same time, like something is missing.

Dante takes in a deep, shuddering breath, shutting his eyes for a long moment. When he speaks again, his voice still hasn’t returned to normal, too deep and oddly strained.

“Nero, you need to leave.”

Nero doesn’t want to leave. In fact, Nero is perfectly happy to stay right here, pressed up against the wall by the force of Dante’s large hand. But Dante still won’t  _ look  _ at him, and that is something Nero isn’t happy about at all.

So he squirms underneath Dante’s grip, trying to force the other to pay attention to him.

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell is happening! Is...did something happen to you during the battle? I’m not  _ useless _ , I can help.”

Dante shakes his head, his eyes fixed firmly at a point on the wall next to Nero’s head.

“Not with this, you can’t.”

“And ‘this’ would be?”

The expression on Dante’s face grows a little more pained, mixed in with a hint of incredulity. 

“Nero, the plant...that we fought. You don’t feel anything?”

Nero feels angry, hot, and absurdly desperate for Dante’s attention. 

“No,” he snaps back, narrowing his eyes at the man, and Dante sighs out, taking a step backward and starting to twist around like he’s going to leave. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Then you definitely can’t help.”

Nero blames the ungodly heat that’s fucking with his head for what he does next.

“You’re not fucking going anywhere,” Nero hisses out, promptly reaching up for Dante’s own collar and jerking him roughly downwards until Dante has no choice but to look at him.

The instant their eyes meet, Nero thinks that maybe he’s bitten off a bit more than he can chew. The ring of blue around Dante’s eyes is starting to turn a bright red, which Nero really only gets about two seconds to look at before he’s being pushed up against the wall again, Dante burying his face in Nero’s neck.

He yelps as he feels Dante’s teeth graze against his skin, and he presses his free hand against Dante’s shoulder, only half-heartedly attempting to push the other man off.

“Dante, what the fuck--?”

Dante interrupts him with a very harsh bite to the skin of his neck, taking Nero’s hand off of him and pinning it against the wall. Nero’s words are cut off as a very sudden, confused moan escapes his lips, and he flushes bright red, clapping his hand over his mouth as he instinctively tilts his head, giving Dante more room. His body goes limp underneath Dante’s, his knees nearly giving out from the dizzying rush that sweeps through his brain, and Nero has no idea  _ how the fuck _ one bite is making him feel like this. 

If not for the other man practically holding him up from how hard he’s pushing Nero against the wall, Nero’s pretty certain he’d be a boneless puddle on the ground at this point.

Nero has honestly no idea what Dante is doing, if this is some kind of weird demon thing or if this is just another thing that Nero doesn’t know about. Back in Fortuna, people didn’t so much as  _ touch  _ each other, if they weren’t family.

He thinks he feels Dante’s tongue lapping at the bite, the motion stinging at open puncture, but Nero is having a very difficult time registering  _ anything  _ through the complete haze in his mind. The heat and the unusual wave of... _ something _ that he feels keeps him too dazed to do much more than let Dante do as he pleases.

“Dante,” he barely manages to get out, and his own voice sounds foreign to his ears, more breathless than he’s used to.

“What...what are we doing?”

At his question, Dante pulls back, but replaces his mouth with his hand, keeping a firm grip around the back and side of Nero’s neck. The other man is finally looking into his eyes, but Nero isn’t sure whether Dante is actually seeing him or not, not with how wide his pupils are blown. 

Tentatively, Nero attempts to test the waters, experimentally trying to tug his wrist out of Dante’s grasp, but Dante only growls at him again, his fingers tightening around him hard enough to almost hurt.

Then, before Nero has time to figure out what’s happening, Dante is dragging him roughly along, his footsteps heavy against the stairs. Nero scrambles to keep up, about as well as he can with Dante’s hand still so firmly gripping the back of his neck. The impatience in Dante’s movements is clear, and when they get to the top of the stairs, Dante almost kicks down his own bedroom door as he all but throws Nero into the room.

Nero stumbles forward at the sudden loss of balance as he lands face first on the bed, a heavy weight on top of him following soon after, preventing him from pushing himself back up. He twists his head as best as he can, his left arm stretched above his head and his right palm pressed flat against the bed as he scrambles for purchase. 

Dante is leaning over him, firmly keeping Nero’s lower half trapped underneath his as he rips open his bedroom drawer, digging around for something inside. 

Nero might have spent nineteen years growing up in a church, but the situation has finally progressed to a point where he thinks he understands what might be going on. A very distant, rational part in the back of his mind attempts to tell him that this is the sort of thing Nero really should get more information about before proceeding with, but he can’t seem to make himself want to move very much, his body content with lying underneath Dante’s.

The effects of whatever Dante did by biting him still haven’t worn off, and the heat is starting to reach an impossible temperature. He feels like a slow-acting poison has been running through his veins this entire time, and has only now just begun to set in, his thoughts becoming increasingly foggy. 

He hears a soft, pitched-up whine, and it takes a ridiculously long moment to realize that the source of the embarrassing noise is  _ himself _ , and he can’t actually seem to shut himself up as he squirms underneath Dante, tugging at his collar impatiently. He doesn’t want these clothes on him, the damp fabric is sticking to his skin and suffocating him, and maybe he’d be just a little less hot if they were off.

_ “Dante,” _ he gasps out, and Dante’s head jerks so quickly towards him that Nero almost forgets what he’s trying to say. 

Thankfully, Dante seems to have some sort of godly demonic telepathy, because he reads the desperation in Nero’s tone easily. He sets a bottle of something on the nightstand before shifting back over and moving downwards.

Nero’s never regretted his choices in fashion as much as he does now, when, after taking his boots off of him with surprising speed, Dante tugs at the belts wrapped around his thigh, a noise of almost animalistic impatience hissing out through his clenched teeth.

He worms his hand downwards, in a clumsy attempt to help Dante out, but Dante, evidently having reached the limits of his tolerance, rips the belts clean in half in a gesture that has Nero feeling dizzy with how fast the blood in his head rushes south. He feels his own heartbeat picking up wildly in his chest as he flattens himself further against the bed, instinctively pushing his hips back against Dante’s hand.

Dante presses a large hand against the small of Nero’s back, making very short work of Nero’s pants and leaving Nero’s lower half completely bare.

Nero has just enough sense left in him to flush at how exposed he is, wriggling underneath Dante in his embarrassment. He’d always done his best to keep himself as covered up as possible, as per Fortuna’s conservative standards.  _ No one’s  _ ever seen this much of him, not even Credo, who practically raised him and trained him for almost all of his life.

The sudden shame he feels clashes with the heat swirling about lazily in his mind, allowing him to think just a little more rationally, enough to have him jerking his shirt downwards with a hand, trying uselessly to cover himself up.

“Wait, Dante--don’t you think--”

Dante snarls as he leans down, delivering another bite to the curve of Nero’s shoulder. Nero actually cries out this time, his body arching back into the contact before he goes entirely limp underneath the weight on top of him. Something that he can now definitely identify as pleasure floods his brain, clouding his vision and narrowing his senses down to the feeling of burning heat in his body.

His grip on his shirt slackens, allowing the fabric to retreat upwards again, and he turns his head to the side, watching, but not processing, as Dante snatches up the bottle.

He doesn’t see what happens next, only hears a wet sort of noise above him, before Dante’s hand grips his hip with bruising force, and something is being pushed roughly into the entrance of his ass. 

Nero bites back a groan of confusion and mild discomfort as he contorts his body, trying to see what the  _ fuck  _ Dante is doing now, his eyes wide as he watches the index finger of Dante’s ungloved hand disappear inside of him. He opens his mouth, possibly to ask what Dante is even actually doing when the intrusion grows wider, and Nero is forced to bury his face in the sheets to muffle the noise that threatens to escape him.

It doesn’t hurt, exactly, but it isn’t pleasant either, and every muscle of Nero’s body is tense, his fingers curling hard into the sheets as he tries not to move.

Dante growls out above him, his tone sounding somewhat dissatisfied, and Nero starts to try to push himself up so that he can glare at Dante, because all of this is Dante’s fault, anyway--

Dante curls his fingers inside of Nero at a different angle, and Nero’s entire body immediately spasms, his vision going white and his hips bucking as his brain temporarily shorts out, a choked sort of whimper escaping his throat. As he falls bonelessly back against the sheets, his body tightening around Dante’s fingers, he distantly realizes that Dante’s added another finger, mercilessly continuing his assault on whatever the hell that spot inside of Nero is.

Nero feels so impossibly overwhelmed already, biting into the sheets to stifle the embarrassing arrangement of noises he keeps making, grinding down against Dante’s fingers. The more Dante touches him, the worse the stifling heat gets, until Nero can barely stand it. He whines again, clenching uselessly around Dante’s fingers, and he somehow feels like this isn’t  _ enough _ , like he needs something more.

At that moment, Dante has the excellent idea to shove his fingers in particularly hard, giving Nero an almost tender nip at the very base of his neck. Nero wails at the combined sensation, his fingers almost ripping holes into the sheets as his back arches so hard he thinks he’ll bruise.

He feels something wet and sticky spill out onto the sheets underneath him, seeping against the skin of his stomach, and he feels maybe five seconds of relief from the dizzying heat before it returns again, coating him like a smothering blanket. He needs  _ more _ , whatever that was, it wasn’t enough, and he has no idea how to convey this to Dante, except to desperately push back against the fingers still inside of him, letting out an incoherent sort of keening noise.

To his extreme disappointment, Dante pulls his fingers out, evidently ignoring the way Nero chases after the contact, his body tightening around Dante in an attempt to keep him inside.

“Dante,  _ please _ ,” he begs, really only half-aware of what he’s saying, the words slipping from his lips without permission. 

He thrashes underneath the man when Dante seems evidently unresponsive, trying to do the job himself with his own fingers, but Dante roughly grabs both of his wrists, pinning them against Nero’s back with a hand, and unbuckling the belt on his pants with the other. Nero is too far out of his mind to make the logical conclusion of what Dante is trying to do, only knows that he needs someone to touch him, needs to touch himself, and Dante isn’t letting him.

An unrecognizable sound escapes him as he tries his best to pull himself out of Dante’s grasp, but Dante has always been stronger than him, and Nero really only succeeds in making Dante’s low, vaguely threatening noises grow harsher. 

Then, in a swift movement, Dante pushes Nero’s face into the sheets, his hand firm against Nero’s upper back. The other hand lets go of Nero’s wrists, instead moving to grab his hip, and, very suddenly, Nero finds himself being stretched open, far more than before, when it’d just been Dante’s fingers. 

He yelps at the sensation, his body instinctively jerking, but Dante doesn’t let him move, his grip tightening enough to bruise the skin of Nero’s hips as he continues to push further into Nero. Tears prick at the corner of Nero’s eyes, his body stinging with the sensation of the incredible fullness, but at the same time, it’s so  _ good _ . 

He’s never known that he needed to be filled like this, and now that he has it, he can’t imagine being so painfully empty otherwise.

The hand pushing his back against the sheets moves once Dante is all the way inside of him, and when Dante flattens his palm against the bed, right next to Nero’s head, Nero dimly realizes that Dante’s skin has turned a dark, burnt red, the flesh replaced by hard looking scales, sharp claws poking holes into the fabric of the sheets. 

He twists his head back, and catches a glimpse of Dante in his Devil Trigger form, fully seated inside of him. Nero is barely able to appreciate the other man’s size--Dante is always bigger than him, but in his devil form, even more so--before the claws digging into his hips tighten and the other pulls back, slamming roughly into him.

Nero screams, a noise that was possibly supposed to be Dante’s name but got lost somewhere along the way, swept away by the flood of pleasure that rushes straight to his brain. The feeling is almost too much, but Dante doesn’t give him any time to adjust to it, thrusting into him with almost wild, uncontrolled movements. 

Nero can feel the rough, demonic skin of Dante’s broad chest scratching against his back as Dante bites at his shoulder, his deep groans warped by the distortion of his demon form. He can feel his own breaths rattling in his chest, his voice coming out in harsh, broken sobs as he struggles to cling to rational thought, but he can barely hold himself up against the force of Dante’s thrusts.

He feels like he’s become even more sensitive, if anything, and he feels himself approaching that now-familiar edge again, much faster than the last time. He clenches down around Dante as his pleasure reaches its peak again, the sticky white liquid staining the sheets again.

This time, though, Nero doesn’t feel much better--if anything, as soon as he comes down from his high, he feels  _ worse _ . He wants to be back on it, he wants to be constantly in that state of mindless euphoria, and somehow, his arousal only heightens, encouraged by the ever-present heat surrounding him.

Dante is still thrusting into him, but his movements have become more desperate, and when he grunts out harshly as he pushes into Nero one final time, Nero feels something hot and wet filling him up, leaking out of his entrance and down his thighs.

The other man leans heavily against him, panting harshly near Nero’s ear, and Nero prays that Dante isn’t done, because he needs  _ more _ , needs it so badly he mewls in desperation when he feels the other pull out.

“No, Dante--Dante,  _ please _ , _ ” _ he chokes out, unsure if Dante can even understand what he’s saying or what he wants.

Dante readjusts his grip on Nero’s waist before flipping him over, onto his back, and Nero can finally get a good look at Dante’s cock, huge and rigid and blessedly, fully hard. The sight alone makes Nero whimper as he lets his head fall limply back against the bed, spreading his legs freely beneath the other, his usual embarrassment all but forgotten at this point. 

Nero’s grateful that he can’t see himself, doesn’t know what kind of mortifying picture he must make, his lower half dripping wet and Dante’s leavings still leaking from his entrance, his face flushed and his legs open, leaving nothing to Dante’s imagination. Dante seems more than pleased at the sight, though, because his already hard cock twitches in increased interest as he leans over Nero, a throaty growl rumbling deep in his chest. 

He hooks his huge claws underneath Nero’s thighs, putting them easily over his shoulders, lines himself up with Nero’s entrance, and slams back in. 

Nero, who had begun to feel empty in way he didn’t like  _ at all,  _ almost sobs with relief as Dante fills him back up again, his walls stretching more easily than the first time to accommodate Dante’s girth. His hands twist in the sheets above his head, his nails tearing into the fabric for purchase as Dante fucks roughly into him. 

Dante moves with little regard for Nero, like he’s only using his body to find his own pleasure, his eyes dark and wild in an almost mindless way, and Nero finds the sheer lack of restraint in Dante’s harsh motions incredibly arousing. Nero is much the same, Dante is only something he needs to fill his hole, as long as Dante keeps fucking him like this, he absolutely doesn’t care.

He feels Dante leaving bites all over his neck and shoulders, some of them hard enough to draw blood, and the sensation that Nero gets from each one, especially the ones closest to the curve between his neck and shoulder, drives Nero wild, reducing him to little more than a whimpering mess. 

He can’t think, can’t even remember his own name, much less say Dante’s when he comes again, crying out as Dante continues to pound into him, the sensitivity quickly overwhelming. 

When Dante fills him up for the second time, there’s already so much in him that the fluid quickly begins to spill out, staining his thighs and the sheets underneath him. Dante pulls out with a wet, slick sound, spreading the mess even further. Nero feels like he should be disgusted by all of it, but the dripping sensation between his thighs only has him tugging at his buttoned shirt, whining breathlessly. 

He  _ still  _ needs more, whatever that fucked-up plant did to them is driving Nero crazy, and being empty is so, so bad, it feels  _ awful _ , leaving Nero’s hole clenching aimlessly around nothing, so badly needing to feel something inside of him.

Dante, thank  _ fuck _ for Dante, takes his nonverbal cue easily, one large claw messily tearing the buttons off of Nero’s shirt and stripping him completely naked. Nero wraps his legs around Dante’s waist, digging his nails into Dante’s back as the man enters him again. 

Nero quickly loses track of what happens after that, his world blurring together in a mindless, senseless line of pleasure. Somewhere along the way, Dante leaves more bites all along him, some of them somehow on the insides of his thighs. Nero scratches sharp, red lines into the broad expanse of Dante’s dragon-scale back, and Dante digs his claws into the fragile flesh of Nero’s waist and hips and legs until he draws blood, but Nero doesn’t feel the pain, can’t through how absolutely fucking  _ good _ he feels. 

It’s starting to become too much, the repeated activity taking its physical toll on Nero’s mostly human body, and while Dante is at least half-demon, Nero is very much not. He wails from pleasure until his voice cracks and gives out, and his muscles tremble with sheer exhaustion, his shaking frame held up only by Dante’s dick inside of him and Dante’s large hands on his body, until all he can do is make breathless, soundless little gasps, his thighs twitching as Dante thrusts into him. 

It isn’t until he feels the faint tickling sensation of Dante’s sweat-slicked hair against the crook of his neck that he vaguely realizes that Dante has reverted to his normal form. He thinks it could maybe be a good sign, that whatever’s happened to them is starting to wear off. 

“Nero,” Dante groans out, his voice deep, but quite human. With a distant jolt, Nero registers that it’s the first time Dante’s actually spoken since they started all this. The man seems a little more aware of himself, but is still desperately rutting inside of Nero, struggling to find his release. “Nero, please—let me...just one more time.”

Nero knows what Dante is asking and can only throw his arm over his eyes and let out a strangled sob. He’s too exhausted for any more, but he still  _ needs  _ more, the feeling of Dante’s dick inside of him, dragging across his hypersensitive insides and forcing out more of the semen already inside of Nero  _ hurts,  _ but it hurts even worse to have nothing in him. 

So he numbly nods, and Dante rubs his large, human hands down the expanse of Nero’s sides, his gentle touch reassuring. Nero feels the other gently pulling his lower half upwards and pushing into him again, and his head falls backward, tears leaking from his eyes as he gasps underneath Dante.

Dante goes as slowly as possible this final time, speaking lowly to Nero in words that Nero doesn’t have the presence of mind to register and pressing feather-light kisses against the bite wounds along Nero’s skin. 

Nero weakly reaches up and tangles his fingers in Dante’s damp hair, tilting his head to allow Dante’s head to fit perfectly against his neck.

“You’re being real good, kid,” Dante murmurs against his skin, his tender praise seeping into Nero’s veins, faintly registering in the cloud in Nero’s mind, and Nero thinks he might smile in response, too lost in feeling too much to respond.

Then, Dante pushes against him, his tongue lapping gently at the crook of Nero’s neck, teeth grazing lightly against the skin. The exhaustion and pleasure building up inside of Nero finally hits its peak, and he arches up into Dante’s body, his eyes rolling up into his head as his senses leave him and he finally, blissfully passes out.

 

* * *

 

Nero feels like absolute shit.

In fact, he doesn’t think he could feel worse if he got run over by a Savior-sized bus. Every part of his body aches with a stinging soreness, like he’d done something ridiculously stupid and physically taxing, like attempt to climb the tallest mountain in the world or try to convince Dante to live like a normal human being. 

With a massive amount of effort, he cracks his eyes open, groaning softly as the gentle sunlight filtering in through the blinds stings at his eyes, trying to shield his face with a hand, only to find that his limbs feel too heavy to even move.

He really should get up--Nero’s always been a morning person, actually, and a pretty light sleeper, so it was pretty unusual that he’d ever sleep past ten in the morning, but one look at the clock on Dante’s nightstand tells him that it’s well past noon.

Right. Dante.

The very vague, blurry memory of what they’d done washes over Nero, a sensation of complete shame and humiliation accompanying it as he faintly recalls what he’d been like, writhing underneath Dante and openly begging for more. 

He turns his head again, but there’s no sign of the other man on the bed. He listens for sound, but the downstairs level is completely quiet, and Nero feels a familiar worry twist his gut. 

Dante didn’t really take any jobs by himself anymore, not ever since Nero had come around to stay with him, so he couldn’t be out on one now, and usually Dante never really had anywhere to go except lounge about in his own shop and get yelled at by the girls. So, the only logical conclusion had to be that Dante had left--maybe because Nero had just been that bad. 

It was probably that, actually.

Not only had Nero been a virgin prior to this catastrophic event, but he’d also had absolutely no knowledge of how any of this worked, as a side effect of growing up amongst a parade of overly-religious nutjobs his entire life. He wasn’t experienced at all, and on top of that, he’d been dosed by that stupid fucking plant. 

No wonder Dante had been disgusted enough to leave.

Trying to pretend like the thought didn’t hurt as much as it did, Nero forces himself to sit up, wincing at the sharp spike of pain that radiates from his entire lower half. He can barely feel his legs, but he forces himself to try and stand up from the bed anyway, which, of course, proves to be a mistake.

The instant he puts the slightest amount of weight on his feet, his knees immediately buckle, and he pitches forward with a yelp, landing on top of something very warm and relatively softer than the floor.

“Ow,” mutters the something, stirring awake at the impact. 

Nero blinks several times, barely able to push his upper half up to look at Dante, who is rubbing at his own eyes. When he sees Nero on top of him, he stares at him for several long seconds before letting his head fall back against the wooden floor with a groan.

“You shouldn’t have tried to get out of bed,” Dante says, before gently removing Nero from his person and getting to his knees.

Dante clearly doesn’t feel the same pain that Nero does, because he easily sweeps Nero up in his arms, stands smoothly upwards, and deposits him back on the bed. The man stands at his side when he’s done, running his fingers through his hair and looking away, clearly avoiding eye contact with Nero.

Nero looks at Dante for a long time, trying to figure out some kind of snappy, irritated comeback to push away the anxiety creeping up on him, but all that comes out is a stupid, helpless-sounding, “I thought that you left.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Dante says. Then, after a pause, he continues, “But if you want me to, I will.”

Nero gets the vague impression that he’s missing something here, but he only frowns at the side of Dante’s head, deciding to put the second part aside for later.

“So...what? You were just sleeping on the floor?”

Dante clenches his jaw, and Nero wonders if Dante’s finally run out of patience with him, finally finds Nero as annoying as he probably should, considering how much Nero has depended on him for help ever since his unannounced arrival here.

“Yeah,” he responds, curtly.

Nero really shouldn’t push, he really shouldn’t. If he’s fucked something up or if Dante doesn’t like him anymore, he should cut things off, force himself to get angry so he won’t feel sad instead, and take his leave. 

But he can’t--he’s too fucking attached to Dante. His three months or so of living with him, of cleaning up his messes, of seeing how stupid and smart and kind Dante really is underneath his arrogant, big-headed exterior have made him hopelessly endeared to the older man.

“Why? Your bed is right here. Don’t tell me you’re that stupid. What, you just didn’t want to be anywhere next to me?” Nero accidentally lets his tongue run a little looser than he perhaps should have, mentally kicking himself for it right afterward.

Dante lets out a long sigh, digging his nails into the flesh of his palm before he finally turns around and looks at Nero, and the expression on his face is so open and honest with  _ guilt  _ that it drives all other thoughts out of Nero’s mind.

“I didn’t think you’d want me next to you, Nero. Not after what I...did to you.”

Nero says absolutely nothing, too busy frantically trying to put the pieces together in his mind, and Dante apparently takes his silence as some sort of confirmation, because he lowers his head, sticking his hands in the pockets of his coat.

The presence of Dante’s clothes, which had very much not been on him the last time Nero had seen him, makes Nero wonder how much time has actually passed. When he looks down at himself, he realizes he’s dressed in an overly large, black shirt that doesn’t belong to him, and a pair of clean boxers that do. The sheets underneath him have been freshly washed and changed, too, which unsettles Nero even further, because he doesn’t think Dante even knows what laundry is.

“Look, there’s, uh....there’s water on the nightstand, if you want it. And some mild painkillers. It’ll help with the, uh….with what you’re probably feeling. And I guess I’ll...go.”

Dante abruptly turns around, and Nero, more than a little incapable of thinking clearly but knowing that he needs to stop Dante reaches out with his demonic right arm and snatches at the back of Dante’s coat with a spectral hand.

“Hey, wait--you can’t just fucking  _ leave!”  _ Nero spits, and Dante seems to wilt in on himself even further, slowly moving to face him again.

“What do you mean, ‘what you did to me?” 

Dante looks at him for a long moment, his eyes running over Nero’s still exposed neck, staring hard at the barely healed bites and claw marks on Nero’s skin.

“The, um…" Dante clears his throat, determinedly shifting his gaze to the left of Nero’s ears, looking intently at the wall. 

“The what?” Nero feels his gaze narrow, adrenaline picking up through his veins. He’d normally be shy about this sort of thing, but his desire to clear up this situation outweighs any mortification he might feel. 

“The part where you stuck your dick in me? You’re gonna have to be a little more specific than that, considering how many times there were.”

Dante visibly flinches at his words, scratching at his jaw and looking shamefacedly at the ground. 

“That...the whole thing, Nero.”

He shakes his head again, before coming closer, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Look, kid. That...that really wasn’t how your first time should have been. In general, actually...you shouldn’t ever be forced to have sex. You should only have to do it with someone you really want to. Someone you care about.”

Nero blinks blankly at him, noticing how Dante visibly deflates with each word that leaves his mouth.

“Uh,” he begins, trying not to let the pain show on his face as he shifts forward. “Did you forget the part where I actually  _ asked  _ for it?”

Dante shakes his head again, much to Nero’s growing frustration.

“That was because of the demonic pollen, kid. That plant that we killed--the spores it released had some sort of aphrodisiac in them, probably for its own use, but when we cut it up, we released the stuff into the air around us.”

“Well, yeah, but--”

“You didn’t even know what sex really was until you got hit by that toxin. In that state, you wouldn’t have been able to refuse  _ anyone _ . And I should have been able to control myself better. Don’t try to tell me that I didn’t basically take advantage of you.”

Nero scowls at him, disliking this foreign, self-loathing Dante. He’d prefer Dante to walk around with a huge ego and a stupid smug smirk on his stupid face than hear Dante talk about himself with such distaste in his voice.

“Okay, well, so what? Maybe it shouldn’t have happened, but it did. So now we just deal with it, right?”

Dante looks at him for a long moment, something very sad in his eyes. 

“Nero, maybe you don’t understand--”

“No,  _ you  _ don’t understand!”

Nero reaches forward, seizing the collar of Dante’s shirt and yanks him downwards, pulling Dante into a very impulsive, rough kiss. He’s never kissed anyone before, but Dante seems too deeply embedded in his own personal shock to react, anyway, so Nero supposes it’s fine.

When he’s fairly certain that he’s gotten his desired message through Dante’s thick skull, he leans back, feeling suddenly embarrassed by the way that Dante stares at him, openmouthed, like a fish.

“So….so you…” Dante begins slowly, like he’s having immense difficulty processing this new turn of events, and Nero flops back into bed, stifling a noise of pain that the motion causes him, covering his face to hide the blush creeping across his cheeks.

_ “Yes _ , you fucking dumbass,” Nero mumbles out. 

There’s a long pause, before Nero hears the shifting of fabric, and a warm weight settles next to him. When he dares to uncover his eyes, Dante is lying next to him, an unusually uncertain look on his face.

“Can I…?”

Nero doesn’t answer, just gingerly twists himself until his head is pressed against Dante’s chest, ducking his head to hide his smile when he feels Dante’s strong forearms wrap around his waist and back.

Dante drops his face into Nero’s hair, his content sigh ruffling the white strands at the top of Nero’s head. 

“Love you, kid,” he hears Dante quietly confess. “Pretty sad that I took this long to say it, actually.”

“Well, you’re old. You’re bound to get slower at doing things, you dinosaur,” Nero grumbles in return. 

Then, after a very long moment in which Nero does his absolute best to work up his nerve, he mumbles out a very hasty, blurred, “I love you too.”

Dante laughs, rubbing circles into Nero’s back with one of his big hands, before rolling them over so that he’s on top of Nero, pressing his forehead against his. Nero flushes, but doesn’t move away.

“You wanna know what a real kiss is like?” Dante asks slyly.

“Shut the fuck up,” Nero answers, which Dante correctly interprets as a yes.

Dante presses his lips against his, and Nero quickly realizes that Dante is much, much better at him than kissing. Whatever is left of Nero’s mind rapidly flies out the window as Dante’s hands run up and down his body, his lips moving gently against Nero’s.

When he breaks away, breathing slightly hard from the lack of air, he pulls his head up, smirking down at Nero, a familiar smugness crossing his face as he licks at his lips and notes the embarrassed flush on Nero’s face.

“So, am I good, or what?”

Nero squirms underneath him, prepared to push Dante off of him before Dante’s ego can grow too large and crush him with the weight, but stops when he feels something particularly hard against his thigh.

He glances downward, Dante following the motion of his eyes.

“...you have got to be kidding me.” 

Dante has the grace to look at least a little sheepish.

“Sorry, kid. Can’t help it. Been waiting a bit too long for this to happen, I guess. Besides, you should hear the noises you make, even when you’re only getting kissed.”

Nero blushes deeply, twisting his head away with a scowl and properly pushing Dante off of him, to his right.

“Anyway, I can take care of it myself,” Dante begins, but Nero shakes his head, rolling over to the other side, where the nightstand is.

He pushes himself slightly up, knocking back the pain pills and snatching up the glass of water, draining the entire thing. Then, he looks back at Dante, who is staring at him, looking a bit shocked and more than a little impressed.

Nero reaches for the belt on Dante’s pants, moving himself downwards so that his face is level with Dante’s crotch. Through his eyelashes, he watches Dante’s expression, a slow smile of his own crossing his face.

“So...just one more time, then?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> CURSED TWITTER, entirely TOO horny  
> https://twitter.com/moolktea


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